Possibly he knew, as he wrote this, that he was mad - because inside every madman sits a little sane man saying 'You're mad, you're mad.'

The real art is not to come up with extraordinary clever words but to make ordinary simple words do extraordinary things. To use the language that we all use and to make amazing things occur.

Happiness quells thought. And work quells thought.

Literature is the voice of the human heart.

People die when curiosity goes.

I can do hieroglyphics in the margin. There are days when I really enjoy the flow of ink. I mean, nice pen, ink straight on to the page.

What we wish upon the future is very often the image of some lost, imagined past.

When anything goes digital, let alone something as immaterial as a book, there is a tendency to see it as just in the air to be taken, and to lose the sense that somebody once made it.

I like the world we've got. If there is anything special and magical, I have to find it in the ordinary stuff.

I share my name with an aerobatic bird that can whiz across a whole summer sky in seconds. A swift is so equipped for speed that it can scarcely cope with being stationary.

I do my thinking while I walk. It just loosens up the mind in the way that you don't get when you are sitting at a desk.

You’ve been wondering lately when the moment is that somebody is truly lost to you.

I always hated guys who were so damn wrapped up in themselves they thought they could do no wrong.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “Turns out I’m one of them.

Friends are born, not made.

It's essentially encouraging parents, teachers, and caretakers to remind children how special they are on a regular basis.

As a woman you must unite with other women for a while and perhaps even reject the world of men, just to balance yourself.

Atheism deprives superstition of its stand ground, and compels Theism to reason for its existence

Ennui is the disease of hearts without feeling, and of minds without resources.

I have found that nothing so deceives your adversaries as telling them the truth.

My mum calls my temper 'Devilman.' They say you calm down with age, but I don't know. It never goes away.

The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes; And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves, Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.